


don't care if I'm falling (if I'm in your arms)

by GreyMichaela



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Tender Sex, brief flash of angst, he's all and he's more, hoo boy there's a lot here, let Nicky and Joe rest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:06:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25499551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyMichaela/pseuds/GreyMichaela
Summary: “Wanna see the house?” Nicky asks after a few minutes.“Mostly just want to kiss you some more,” Joe admits, leaning in to try and capture his mouth again, but Nicky laughs and turns his head away. Joe kisses the cheek that’s presented, then his jaw and down his throat, over the rough stubble to the soft skin of his throat. Nicky shivers, head tipped to the side, and his grip on Joe’s shoulders tightens.A thousand years, and he can still pull reactions like this out of him. It makes delight burn in Joe’s chest, fierce and possessive.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 50
Kudos: 1093





	don't care if I'm falling (if I'm in your arms)

**Author's Note:**

> So this one has some spoilers. Maybe don't read at least the first few paragraphs if you haven't seen the movie yet? (Although if you're reading without having seen the movie, thank you and ily and make sure you stay hydrated and also GO WATCH THIS MOVIE ASAP)
> 
> This isn't a direct sequel but it'll make more sense if you read [these moving walls](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25456096) first. Or don't, I'm not your mom, and if you're just here for porn, then go nuts my friend.

Joe can’t remember the last time he and Nicky were alone,  _ truly _ alone. Alone with no concerns that stealth ops were going to burst in and gas and kidnap them, or even just the worry that  _ Andy _ might walk in. Not that she hasn’t seen it all, after a thousand years of traveling together, but neither he nor Nicky  _ actually _ has an exhibition kink.

So it’s a wonder and a delight when Nicky rents a car and drives them into the French countryside, taking turn after turn on roads that get narrower every kilometer, and refuses to answer when Joe asks where they’re going. It doesn’t really matter where, anyway, not as long as they’re together.

He says as much and Nicky snorts.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” His tone is amused, but he takes his hand off the gearshift and rests it on Joe’s thigh.

Joe laces their fingers together, watching Nicky’s profile. He looks tired, but then he almost always looks tired, perpetual dark circles under those cerulean eyes Joe loves so much.

“Do you think she’s okay?” Nicky asks abruptly.

Joe squeezes his hand. “She’s got Nile. She’ll be fine. Nile won’t let anyone near her.”

“It just feels wrong,” Nicky says quietly, staring at the road. “To see her bleed. To see her in pain like this.”

“I know,” Joe says. There’s not really anything else to say. He wonders if he should mention Booker, and decides against it immediately. He’s still angry, still  _ hurting, _ and he knows his lover. Nicky will say something meant to be soothing, but all Joe can see is that fucking  _ doctor, _ shoving a foot long needle between Nicky’s ribs, and he doesn’t think he can ever truly forgive Booker for what he did.

Nicky slows and leans forward, studying the road. “There’s a gate—ah.” He brakes and Joe hops out and opens the gate so Nicky can pull the car through. Closing it behind him, Joe glances around on his way back to the car. It’s a tiny, overgrown forest lane, so thick with trees it almost blots out the sun, the road more a suggestion more than anything.

The car bumps and creaks its way over potholes and rocks, Nicky grimacing every time it rolls through a hole, until they emerge into a large clearing. At the far end is a small stone cottage, covered with clinging ivy that makes it blend into the trees behind. A garden long since gone to seed runs riot beside the cottage, wildflowers spilling out in waves of color across the grass.

Nicky parks and they both get out. Joe takes a deep breath of sweet air, strong with the perfume of the flowers, and Nicky rounds the car to stop in front of him.

“What is this place?” Joe asks, taking the hem of Nicky’s T-shirt and using it to tug him nearer.

Nicky goes, smiling, resting his arms on Joe’s shoulders. “It’s ours. Five acres of trees and flowers and no one for miles. Just the two of us.”

“Did you buy more property when I wasn’t looking?” Joe teases. He slips his hands under Nicky’s T-shirt and flattens them against his back, enjoying the play of muscles under skin.

“I bought it years ago,” Nicky says, leaning forward to kiss him. “Just like I bought the place in New Zealand, and the one in Germany, and Spain. So we’d always have somewhere to go, somewhere not too far.”

Joe pulls him closer and kisses him again. Nicky opens for him sweetly and they take their time tasting each other’s mouths, no sense of urgency to it.

“Wanna see the house?” Nicky asks after a few minutes.

“Mostly just want to kiss you some more,” Joe admits, leaning in to try and capture his mouth again, but Nicky laughs and turns his head away. Joe kisses the cheek that’s presented, then his jaw and down his throat, over the rough stubble to the soft skin of his throat. Nicky shivers, head tipped to the side, and his grip on Joe’s shoulders tightens.

A thousand years, and he can still pull reactions like this out of him. It makes delight burn in Joe’s chest, fierce and possessive.

“You can kiss me in the house,” Nicky says, a little breathless, and takes a step back, pulling Joe with him.

“Fine, your way,” Joe says. He laces their fingers together and they walk up the cobblestone path. “But if you think I’m not having you naked and begging under the trees at least once before we leave, then you don’t know me as well as I thought.”

The grin Nicky gives him is sharp-edged and delighted. “Oh, I’m counting on it,” he says, and squeezes Joe’s hand.

Inside, the house is cool and dark. There’s very little to it—a small living space and kitchen on an open floorplan. Joe waits for his eyes to adjust to the dimness as Nicky fusses around, looking for something.

“No electricity,” he says over his shoulder. “But there’s running water.” He opens a drawer and makes a noise of triumph. An instant later, a match flares, throwing his face into stark relief. His lips are pursed, brow furrowed as he coaxes a dusty lantern to life, and Joe leans against the wall and watches him, content to have nowhere to be but in this moment with the one person he loves above all others.

When Nicky looks up, Joe hasn’t looked away. Nicky’s lips twitch.

“Are you hungry?”

Joe makes a noise that could be agreement. “It can wait,” he says, and Nicky’s eyes soften.

He holds out a hand and Joe pushes away from the wall to step into his arms. Nicky holds him and Joe tucks his face against Nicky’s neck, breathing in the grounding, familiar smell of him. He smells like gunpowder and lemon soap, cotton and sweat, and Joe closes his eyes, letting everything go.

“Do you remember the first time we kissed?” Nicky asks after a few minutes.

Joe lifts his head, surprised. “What’s got you thinking about that?”

Nicky shrugs. “Endings. Beginnings. How we came together. How it will end.”

Joe flinches. “Don’t—”

“Who’ll go first?” Nicky says. He sounds exhausted, resigned, and it makes nausea churn in Joe’s belly. “Will I have to watch you die and never wake up again? Or will I at least get the last few years of your life before you die of old age in your—”

Joe gets a hand over his mouth.  _ “Stop.” _

Nicky watches him over Joe’s hand, green eyes sad. 

Joe takes a deep breath. “However it happens, we’re going together. You hear me? Because I won’t live without you. Everything—” He swallows hard. “Everything good in my life is because of you. So when you die, if you go first, I will stop living. Until we can be together again.”

There are tears in Nicky’s eyes. As Joe stares at him, the first one slides down his cheek. He reaches up and pulls Joe’s hand off his mouth, holding it to his face instead. 

“Nine hundred years with you, and it’s still not enough,” he whispers.

“It will  _ never _ be enough,” Joe says, and surges forward to kiss him.

Nicky kisses back just as frantically, lips and tongue hot and desperate as he molds himself against Joe’s frame. “Joe,” he gasps, and Joe pushes him back against the wall, wedging a thigh between his. The noise Nicky makes is gratifying, considering how often they’ve done this, and Joe can feel him already hardening against him, hips jerking in an attempt to find friction.

“I could fuck you against the wall,” Joe manages between kisses, and Nicky moans, head falling back. “But I don’t  _ want  _ to fuck you.”

Nicky opens his eyes, and softness fills them, a warmth almost unbearable as he gazes at Joe. “Take me to bed and make love to me, then,” he says.

Joe takes a step back and hesitates. “Nicky.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know where the bed is.”

He’s treated to Nicky’s low, delighted laugh before he’s grabbed by the wrist and towed down the hall. He stubs his toe in the dark twice, but Nicky’s not faring much better, judging by the swearing.

They’re both laughing by the time they stumble into a small bedroom at the end of the hall. It’s much brighter in there, the parted curtains letting dappled sunlight in to dance on the perfectly made bedcovers. Joe reaches for Nicky’s shirt, pulling it up and over his head. Nicky’s busy too, tugging at Joe’s pants and working the belt buckle free. He shoves the pants down heedlessly and cups Joe’s erection, making him hiss. Nine hundred years, and still so hungry for his lover’s touch that he’s shaking with need. 

“ Nicolò,” he says, and something in his tone makes Nicky raise his head.

His green eyes are blown, pupils huge, and he licks his lips, looking at Joe’s mouth.

“I remember the first time,” Joe husks, and Nicky’s smile blooms, wide and sweet. He pulls Joe’s shirt off and they tumble onto the bed naked.

“What do you remember?” Nicky asks, trailing fingers hot like brands over Joe’s ribs. “Tell me.”

“I—” Joe takes a breath, trying to focus as Nicky’s hand slides over a nipple and he tweaks it, just hard enough to make Joe gasp. “I remember you cried.”

Nicky pinches him for that and Joe yelps. “Fuck you, I did not.” His lips are twitching and Joe grabs his wrist before he can pinch him again, breathless with laughter. 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Nicolò. Men cry too, you know.”

Nicky lunges and rolls them so he’s straddling Joe’s hips, pinning his wrists to the bed. “Of course we cry, asshole,” he growls. He’s still fighting the smile, and Joe grins up at him, unrepentant. “But I didn’t. At least not that time. Unless you mean maybe tears of disappointment at your lack of skill.”

Joe gasps again, this time in outrage, and bucks hard enough to dislodge Nicky’s hold and flip them. The bed creaks as they wrestle, Nicky’s speed against Joe’s cunning, and it’s several minutes before Joe’s on top, Nicky facedown underneath him with one arm pinned behind his back.

“Had enough?” Joe asks in his ear.

Only one of Nicky’s eyes is visible, but laughter is dancing in it. “Never,” he says, muffled by the bedspread.

Joe kisses his ear, then nips his earlobe. He grinds his erection against Nicky’s ass and is rewarded with a sharp gasp and Nicky pushing his hips back, looking for more. “You want it like this?” Joe asks.

“I want it however you want to give it to me,” Nicky says. His voice is drenched with lust, and it shoots through Joe in a sizzling burst of heat. He’s left with no choice but to bite the shoulder blade within reach, and Nicky groans. 

“I remember dying,” Joe whispers against his skin, and Nicky goes still. “I remember soldiers. And when I woke up, they were all dead and it was just you.”

Nicky twists beneath him and Joe obeys the unspoken request, lifting enough that he can flip onto his back beneath him. His green eyes are soft as he twines both arms around Joe’s neck.

“I didn’t know anything back then,” he murmurs, and Joe lowers his head to brush a kiss across his mouth. “But I knew you were mine.”

“Always,” Joe says, and kisses him again, harder this time.

“Just like this,” Nicky says, wriggling until he gets a leg free so he can hook it around Joe’s hips. “I want you just like this, love.”

“Are there supplies?” Joe asks, and Nicky points above his head to the nightstand. Joe can just reach it if he stretches, and he fishes the lube out as Nicky runs his hands up and down Joe’s ribs. Then he sits back on his heels and Nicky pulls a thigh to his chest. 

He’d been telling the truth. He  _ does _ remember their first time together. The memory shines in his mind, bright and polished from how many times he’s replayed it.

Nicky sighs as Joe slips the first slick finger inside, and Joe bends to kiss his inner thigh.

_ He’d woken to find dead Crusaders scattered all over the road and Nicky bending over him, covered in blood and eyes frantic. He’d been calling to Joe, even though all Joe could understand was his name, and the relief on his face when Joe opened his eyes was visceral, making something in his chest lurch.  _

_ He’d never been kissed like that before, rough and wild and desperate, gentling to sweet nips and licks inside his mouth, until his head was spinning and he was clutching Nicky’s arms just to keep himself upright. _

_ The horses hadn’t gone far, distracted by a nearby field with good grazing, and they caught them easily, although Nicky had insisted on stripping them of identifiable tack before they mounted. _

_ They rode the rest of the day, not stopping until night drew in on soft feet. Only then did Joe call a halt, indicating a grove of trees off the road where they could set up camp. They didn’t dare start a fire, but the night wasn’t cold and the moon bright and clear above them. Nicky’s face was plainly visible as he untacked the horses, crooning to them in Italian as he rubbed the sweaty spots on their bellies and shoulders while Joe set up a rough pen using the rope he’d found in Nicky’s pack.  _

_ Once they were settled, Nicky brought out one of the loaves of bread and patted the ground beside him. Joe crossed his legs and sat beside him, close enough their thighs were touching, and accepted half the loaf. _

_ After a minute, Joe pointed at the bread in his hand. “Bread,” he said in Arabic. _

_ Nicky’s eyebrows went up.  _

_ Joe repeated the word. _

_ “Bread,” Nicky said in a passable attempt. _

_ Joe beamed at him and pointed at the horses. “Horse,” he said. _

_ Nicky repeated it and then said something in Italian, pointing at the horses too. _

_ Joe fumbled his way through the word and Nicky leaned over and kissed him, making him freeze, startled. But Nicky was smiling at him, green eyes soft in the moonlight, and Joe slowly relaxed and smiled back. _

_ They took turns pointing out items and teaching each other the words in Arabic and Italian, until Nicky pointed to himself. _

_ “ Nicolò di Genova,” he said. _

_ Joe smiled at him. “Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Mohammad ibn al-Kaysani.” _

_ “Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn….” _

_ “Mohammad ibn al-Kaysani,” Joe finished. _

_ Nicky said something in Italian and put his bread down. He went to his knees and swung a leg over Joe’s lap, gripping his shoulders to steady himself. _

_ Joe had never had a lapful of Italian Crusader before. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with his hands, until Nicky leaned down and caught his wrists, guiding him until Joe was gripping his waist. _

_ He asked something, brows momentarily knitted, and Joe shrugged helplessly. Nicky repeated the words and this time ground down briefly against him. Joe’s brain whited out and he forgot to breathe, fingers tightening convulsively on Nicky’s narrow hips. When he was able to think again, he looked up. Nicky was watching him closely. There was something like worry in his eyes. _

_ Joe licked his lips. Whatever else was happening, it was abundantly clear that Nicky was asking him if he was alright with what they were doing. Joe couldn’t form a thought in his native language, let alone one he didn’t know, so instead he reached up and pulled Nicky’s head down and told him another way just how alright he was, until Nicky was panting against his mouth, hips rolling in small circles.  _

_ Joe fumbled with Nicky’s shirt, pulling it from his breeches, then slipping his hands underneath to explore pale skin dotted with moles. Nicky shivered, eyes dark as Joe investigated his body for several minutes, until it seemed he couldn’t stand it anymore and he reached between them. His knuckles grazed Joe’s erection and Joe made a bitten-off noise. Nicky thumbed the bulge, eyes still on Joe’s, rubbing small circles in the fabric just under the head of his cock until Joe was panting, sparks skittering up his spine with every teasing touch. _

_ “Please,” he managed. “ Nicolò—” _

_ Nicky murmured something in Italian. It was soft, soothing, but his fingers were quick and unhesitating as he unlaced Joe’s trousers and got one hand inside. Joe’s back arched and he cried out as Nicky freed him, giving him two firm strokes that left him shaking and already on the verge of begging. _

_ Then he let go, sitting up just enough to get his own breeches open. Joe couldn’t help the moan when Nicky pulled himself out, long and slim in the moonlight, the tip peeking over his fist. _

_ “An infidel should never be this beautiful,” he whispered, and maybe Nicky couldn’t understand him but he definitely caught the awe in his voice, and he bent to kiss him with a smile that was almost smug. _

_ It didn’t take long before Joe needed more than kisses though. He nipped at Nicky’s chin and worked a hand between them, urging him closer until their cocks lined up, root to tip. Then he spat into his palm and took hold of both of them.  _

_ They both groaned, and Joe fumbled for Nicky’s hand, pulling it down to cover his. It took them a few minutes of experimenting to find the rhythm and grip that worked, prompting breathless swearing from Joe and what sounded like the equivalent in Italian from Nicky until they found a timing that worked.  _

_ Nicky hunched and buried his face in Joe’s neck, breath hot against his skin. He moaned something, hips twitching. He was solid and heavy and Joe’s leg was going numb but it didn’t matter, he didn’t care, he was already close just from this and he’d never move again if it meant Nicky kept twisting his wrist on the upstroke and scraping his teeth over the tendon in Joe’s shoulder. _

_ “Please,” Joe said, not sure what he was asking for. To come? To keep going? To stay like this forever, suspended in this perfect moment? “ Nicolò—” _

_ Nicky stiffened as he came, shuddering through it in wet, heavy pulses. He sagged after a minute, sucking in air and pressing his forehead to Joe’s shoulder. _

_ Joe couldn’t resist dropping a kiss on his hair, and Nicky sighed, the sound replete with pleasure, and shifted his weight. He gently batted Joe’s hand away and took hold of him, lifting his head to watch Joe’s face as he looked for the right rhythm again. _

_ He was a fast learner, apparently. He found it in the first few seconds, grinning triumphantly when Joe jerked, spine bowing. _

_ “Just like that,” Joe panted, not caring that Nicky couldn’t understand him. “Don’t stop, oh fuck, I’m—”  _

_ Nicky caught his mouth in a searing kiss and Joe sobbed against his lips and came, toes curling with the force of it as Nicky worked him through it, crooning to him in Italian. _

_ Joe slumped against the tree, chest still heaving. “What—what are we doing?” he asked after a minute. _

_ Nicky bent his head and kissed him. It was an answer as much as anything, and Joe wrapped his still shaky arms around Nicky’s neck and held on tight. _

Nicky groans, back arching as Joe slides deep. He’s tight, because he doesn’t like a lot of prep, he likes the stretch, the burn, the way it feels when Joe fills him up. Joe takes a minute to appreciate the sight—Nicky’s head flung back, the way the tendons in his throat stand out, the flush crawling up his chest.

There are no surprises, not anymore. He knows, down to the finest detail, exactly how to do this. He knows how Nicky likes it. Deep, slow, grinding thrusts to start before picking up the pace, keeping his rhythm steady—no jackrabbiting hips or jerky movements. Nicky doesn’t want his cock touched at first, which is fine by Joe because that way he can focus on exactly what he’s feeling, letting the pleasure stoke in the pit of his belly as he fucks in and out, Nicky’s thighs over his arms as he writhes.

Nicky’s lapsed into Italian, Joe realizes after a few minutes, his eyes squeezed shut and lips bitten red. The head of his cock is flushed a deep red, and Joe picks up the pace. Not long now. Nicky’s telling him how beautiful he is, how perfect, how there’s never been anyone before and will never be anyone again like him, how he was made for Nicky and Nicky for him. It’s nonsense, really, stuttered syllables interspersed with rough noises as Joe fucks him harder and harder, and Joe barely gets a hand around Nicky’s cock in time as Nicky locks up tight and comes all over himself with a shout.

Joe knows how he likes this too. He doesn’t stop, keeps going until Nicky’s thighs begin to shake and he groans, deep in his chest. Only then does he slow down, let Nicky’s legs drop to the mattress, and lean over him.

Nicky blinks his eyes open, languorous and slow, hazed with pleasure. His mouth curves when he finds Joe hovering an inch away, waiting. 

“Fill me up,” he rasps in Italian, touching Joe’s jaw. “Let me feel it.”

Joe groans and obeys. It doesn’t take long at all for that ball of heat to gather again, as Nicky runs his hands up and down his forearms, murmuring filthy encouragement. Joe drops his forehead to Nicky’s chest as he shakes with the force of his orgasm, the heat bursting outward and his spine going liquid.

Nicky holds him when Joe’s arms give out and he collapses. He can hear Nicky’s heart beating thunderously under his cheek, and he rolls his head enough to kiss his sternum.

“Better than our first time?” Nicky says after a few minutes, when the sweat has dried and they’ve managed to unstick themselves. They’re lying on their backs, side by side. Joe gropes for, and finds, Nicky’s hand.

“Every time feels like the first time,” Joe says, completely honest, and Nicky laughs, squeezing his hand.

“You are ridiculous.” 

Joe squeezes back. “Here’s to another thousand years.”

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, [my Tumblr](http://greymichaela.tumblr.com) in case you'd like to scream at me. (I really am sorry about that flash of angst, it snuck in out of nowhere.)


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